


Shape Without Form

by bananasandroses (achuislemochroi)



Series: Whofic [48]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 2X13 (Doomsday), 3X01 (Smith & Jones), Angst, Character Study, F/M, Interstitial, Introspection, Missing Scene, Tenth Doctor Era, The Way The World Ends, inspired by T. S. Eliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achuislemochroi/pseuds/bananasandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redefining who you are is never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shape Without Form

  


  
_Shape without form, shade without colour,  
Paralysed force, gesture without motion_

His temporal sense appears to be mis-firing, making him think that it’s been several months since he lost her. Has it? Has it _really_ been that long? He can’t believe it’s true. But then, days seem to run in to each other with distressing ease for him because he cannot let himself sleep. Sleep means he’ll dream of _her_. He’s had one particularly distressing dream already where he’s watched her die in front of him multiple times, killed by both Dalek and Cyberman – he _knows_ it isn’t true but refuses to remind himself exactly how and why he knows this.

A universe separates him from the woman he would do everything, _anything_ , for. Anything, that is, except find a way through; he knows how it works better than anybody else alive and he knows that however much he loves her (which is a lot) and however much he misses her (which is even more) he can’t be so selfish as to be the cause of the destruction of two _universes_ simply because he doesn’t like the hand that’s been dealt him.

So he doesn’t look for a way through, doesn’t dare try, because he knows himself well enough to be completely aware that he’s too desperate to stop looking if he ever started. The reliability of the seals on those cracks between the universes is not something he wants to test in this frame of mind; especially when he seems to be capable of thinking about nothing else but Rose and how acutely both body and mind are missing her.

It doesn’t last, the sense of disbelief, and perhaps that’s just as well. He breaks, eventually, tired of pretending to himself that everything is fine when the opposite is true and tired of trying to pretend that he is all right when it is obvious to him that he is simply _not coping_ – and for a long time after that he is a total, utter mess. He is grieving for the woman he loves because although she is not dead, for him she _may as well be_ ; the tears flow fast and thick and the pain scythes through him in a way that he wouldn’t have thought credible in any of his previous lives.

The fact that this situation is different from anything he’s experienced in any of his previous lives is something that crosses his mind briefly, and again he curses himself for leaving himself open to this kind of pain. And then as soon as the thought comes it is gone, leaving him thinking of _her_ again whether he wants to or not.

It _hurts_.

He finds himself screaming at the unfairness of it all, shouting at the walls of his TARDIS and blocking his mind from the mental comfort she can bring him because he isn’t worth any help or comfort. Why? Because he could have saved her, could have saved them both. If he’d only seen sense enough to think ahead and put her – both of them, really, but _particularly_ her – into some sort of harness then this whole situation could have been avoided.

She is as miserable without him as he is without her, too, and he knows it; that particular agony feeds in to the massive amount of guilt he is already feeling and he cannot bear it. Something snaps in his mind, and he lashes out with hands and feet at whichever part of his ship he can reach, blaming the ship for his losing Rose because he is already blaming himself and it isn’t enough, isn’t enough to salve his conscience or to quiet the mental link he has with her that is broadcasting how much pain she too is in.

He’d break the bond, he knows how to, but he won’t because he can’t lose that last link he has with her. But it’s beyond his capability right now to send her even a scrap of comfort. The suffering he has to experience is torture but, as he believes that it is his fault she is gone, there is nothing he’s willing to do to temper it. He is far from the rational, sane person he needs to be but he is too far gone to care.

It’s a very, _very_ long time before he is stable enough, or feels either sane enough or good enough about himself, to want to leave the Time Vortex. Longer still before he feels capable of removing the self-imposed _diktat_ against going anywhere near Earth. It’s full of painful memories at the moment, particularly London, and he neither needs nor wants the reminders of what he’s lost. That’s all he can think of, still, and it never stops hurting.

So instead he roams time and space, throwing himself into dangerous situations without hesitation because there’s nothing left for him any more. His planet is gone, his people are gone, and the most important woman in the whole of creation – who’d done more than anyone to help him live again – is gone, too.

And the fact that she means more to him than the rest of the universe put together, along with the fact that that same universe would be in danger if he did anything to bring her back to him, puts him in a frankly murderous mood.

It's while he's in this happy frame of mind that he runs into Martha Jones.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant as a kickstarter for a look at Season Three from the Doctor's POV, this one currently stands alone. I may, or may not, revisit this at some point.
> 
> The title is from _The Hollow Men_ , and therefore belongs to T. S. Eliot.


End file.
